


Between Two Worlds

by shiroakuma



Category: Blackpool, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, M/M, Major Character Undeath, i think...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiroakuma/pseuds/shiroakuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one side lies the life he build for himself, the people he came to care for and on the other side remains the person he dared to live for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The white room

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for Life on Mars episodes and its ending. The story is based on LoM universe and its settings as well so I suggest finishing the series first.  
> No spoilers for Blackpool.

 

The corridor was white. The floor, the roof even the walls were of the same blinding colour. Peter hated it. Hiding behind the precision of life and death, there was never any room for laughter or love, only for desperation and agony. He walked past people crying, some muffling their sobs, some screaming to high heavens. He shivered as the lack of sugar in his system threatened to over throw him of his way. Hospitals drew that sort of reaction out of him every time without exception.

Finally he reached the wing side he was looking for and a deep, scary silence welcomed him. Hyde was written over the glass doors which now closed behind him, trapping him. What would he not give for a bubble gum, right then. He would have popped the gum just to spite the motionless figures as the loud noise would echo in the otherwise grim corridor. He passed a few doors and turned around the corner. He wondered if this was the sight of death where was the miracle of life? In another floor far away from the dying? Or was it at the end of this hallway, clinging to life with all his might? Peter hoped so.

As his feet dragged him towards the final doors, he hesitated. Only for a moment and in the next he had already pushed the door ajar, waiting to be properly called in. He had no intention of hastening their reunion in this condition. Funny that, considering he had ran here all the way from the airport as soon as he had landed. He isn't going anywhere he thought bitterly. Either way

"Peter" whispered the elderly lady sitting by her son's bedside. She hadn't called him by his name in a long time, years maybe. She gingerly pushed herself up, joints hurting from sitting in the same position for too long, far too long. He helped her straighten up and was enveloped in a hug almost instantly. He held the lady by her shoulders as he returned the hug briefly. Their position had put her son directly in his sight and he could do nothing but turn his head away.

Aware of his discomfort, perhaps by some motherly instinct Peter mused, the woman pulled away and with the same gentleness grabbed his hands, smiling. Peter was surprised to realize that she had already gotten used to this otherwise maddening situation, even accepted it. A month spent sitting by the side of her son who had been comatosed by a speeding car, guarding him from further earthly damage with the only way she knew how. No, he concluded then. She had just gotten better at concealing the pain and averting her emotions.

No words were needed to ask about the event. The newspapers and the friends from the force had already provided him with all he wished to know but she spoke anyway. The words spilling one after another, she confided in him. When she has exhausted herself of speaking she nodded in her son's direction, gripping him more firmly on one arm she guided the other hand to the bed bringing their hands together on the cold sheets. Peter would have jolted away if not for her suddenly tightening grip on his other arm.

"A mother knows" she assured him and he remained in that spot, feeling, marvelling at the heat emanating from the soft hand. He had always liked those hands, warm and always fiddling with something. He had liked watching them as they waved at him from across the station or touched him in all the right places or simply danced in the air as he got overexcited usually while making a point. He always enjoyed that, hadn't he. Will enjoy it again, his inner self spoke to him. He hoped it would, again.

"Sam" he whispered beneath his breath, first sign of anxiety seeping through. He wasn't certain whether he had been heard or not.

"I'll buy us some cocoa. I remember you having a sweet tooth so I'll ask for an extra creamy one, alright?"

"Yes, please. Thank you" he mumbled as she slowly freed his arm and made her way out of the room. Peter looked after the woman, with her slouched shoulders, messy hair and rumpled shirt. Despite the hunched posture, there stood a mother, a head held high and unyielding. On the brick of fainting with exhaustion perhaps but nevertheless unrelenting in the face of the bad fortune they had suffered. After all Tyler's were always a stubborn bunch. Speaking of which...

"Hello, Sam" he said simply. His eyes were focused on the pale figure covered in white hospital gown almost disappearing within the similarly coloured sheets. Like a ghost with cables sticking from his bruised arms and chest. Peter didn't like ghosts either. They reminded him that one occasion where he got too close to becoming one. How had he survived that? Oh yes, one newly promoted DCI Sam Tyler had waltzed in within the last minute. He was rather fond of that memory. It was this one time when Sam was willing to take a risk and ignore the procedure. Peter had been a little bit proud of him and largely grateful for his heroism. It hadn't dampened his gratification for Sam even after learning that it was in fact Maya who had convinced him to act as such.

Perhaps that was the moment he had fallen in love with him. Nah, he had already fallen long before that. Just seeing Sam before his broken body, shielding him had done nothing but strengthen those feelings. Witnessing the panic in his DCI's face and finally knowing that he cared was almost worth the near death experience. Good thing that day hadn't been an end for them.

Now, Sam was left in the same way; wounded and broken. Lingering on the thin line between life and death, where Peter could not reach him, where he could not pull him back. He could stay with him though. I could be your anchor, if only you would let me...

"You stubborn bastard" he said out loud. Realizing it wasn't exactly appropriate to swear at an unconscious man, Peter straightened in his seat, glancing nervously around him. "Sorry"

Unsurprisingly there was no answer. Not from the nurses who suddenly disappeared or from Mrs. Tyler who had been taking ages to return, Peter knew by then that she wasn't coming back for a good while. And sadly there was no voice coming from Sam. His chest almost flat, barely moving with the force of the inhaler. Too shy to rise or fall.

Peter surpassed a sob. Hand clenching around Sam's, he couldn't quite stop a few stray tears from falling. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare dying on me, Sam Tyler. I might have let you go once but I am done running away. Do you hear me? So you are not allowed to run either. You have to come back. You have to wake up. I promise I won't let you go this time, any time! I won't repeat that mistake. So just return to us, ok? I don't care about Maya or anyone else. You won't slip away from me, you stubborn bastard. Please, Sam, open your eyes."

Pleading hadn't helped. Staying by his bed side, watching him struggle to simply breathe hadn't helped. Peter was getting desperate. He only had managed to take a week off; a single week with an unresponsive Sam in an unnerving room with dozens of nurses and doctors constantly rushing in trying to understand why he wasn't waking up. Being chased out of the room sometimes by those white soulless coats and sometimes by Mrs. Tyler herself. At those times he would still remain in the hospital, wishing to convey all he could to Sam through thick walls and across similarly broken bodies. Even if he couldn't respond back Peter basked in the knowledge of being in the same floor or building as him. He was such a lovesick puppy. Why had he run away again? Yeah, he had run because he was also a gutless coward who couldn't convince Sam to accept their feelings nor gather the courage to do it first.

He soaked his head into the water. It was one of those rare moments when Mrs. Tyler had had enough and sent him directly to his suit in a cab she had hailed. He was apparently forbidden from staying in the sterile room while he was stinging to high heavens. Peter would have laughed at her colourful description if not for the truth within it. He had promised to clean himself up, eat some decent food, dose up his system with sugar and return after a few hours of sleep. He had insisted though that she were to do the same once he had taken over. She had smiled at that and explained how they weren't the only ones concerned about Sam; That there would always be someone by his side even if the two of them were not available.

Peter sighed and grabbed a wrapped candy on the counter. The cranberry aroma both in his mouth and in the tub relaxed his shoulders and back as he submerged further under the water. His eyes closed, he allowed his mischievous brain to wonder back at his first day in the CID. Oh how amazing it had started and how painfully it had ended with his head cracked on the nearest pavement, body resting on the cold road. He was thinking about it before too. How it was their first day together and if he couldn't pull through how any day within this week could easily be their last. Both days one of them lying half dead, stone cold both waiting for an extended hand to grasp and raise them back up; towards the land of the living.

"Hi, Peter, Peter Carlisle, your new DI" singed a fresh out of Glasgow, newly appointed Detective Inspector Carlisle as he shoved the transfer papers into the hands of another newly promoted, DCI Sam Tyler. "I hear you are the youngest to become a DCI here in Manchester. Must be smart one, are you?"

"I'd like to believe so" answered the DCI Tyler squinting his eyes while trying to decide whether his team was pulling a joke on him by sending this poor sod who was standing in front of him, rudely eating a stolen muffin in the men's room. He knew it was stolen because it was the same one he had left on his desk, a minute ago.

"Oh, yeah. It's probably yours. I went by your desk. You weren't there. This beautiful thing was left all alone on its own. Couldn't resist." Tyler's eyebrow twitched.

"Right. Well go back there and wait for me, then. Here" he said handing the papers back and he turned to run the cold tab, splashing his face.

"Tough day?" asked his new DI.

"Seen better. Would you stop eating that in here?"

"Apparently it has been a bit rough around the edges. So cranky!"

"Excuse me? Should I remind you that I am your DCI and you should address me as such?"

"Sorry but you are a bit cranky today, aren't you sir?"

"Out!"

Oh, it had been worth it! Getting a first-hand glimpse to his new DCI's tolerance, Peter was certain that he wasn't what Tyler had been expecting. After all Peter have never been the organised, follow the rules by the book person. Oh but he had heard of this DCI Tyler and his work as DI. Through and through Tyler was the one man the higher-ups liked to see on the big chair with his image as an incorruptible, highly successful copper. Too bad his ideals were limited by the book. A challenge Peter was willing to win. This man, so full of potential and wonders had intrigued him long before he had been promoted.

Peter walked around the solid table and took a peek at the ordered papers and files. No photographs, no personal effects and not even a bloody colourful stick-'em-notes. It was always the easiest to tell about a man by his belongings as the arrangement of his desk would be like a representation of his subconscious. Peter knew better that the lack of belongings was not an indication for lack of character but that it provided a much more definitive story about the owner of the desk; One such story of loneliness and work fixation which fitted the young DCI perfectly.

"You are on the wrong side" Peter startled with Sam's call out "Take a seat, on the other side"

"Yes, sir" he answered "Haven't had the chance to move in yet? Your desk is way too neat"

"What do you mean? I already have all I need here"

"Of course, you do" Peter handed his papers to the confused DCI and stretched on the chair, arms flailing up in the air. Sam went through his details quickly. There really wasn't much to ponder on. It was not like Sam had any say in who his DI was to be, though he had a strong idea why Peter was specifically sent to him.

"The home office requested your transfer to Manchester with one reason in mind, DI Carlisle. Have you been informed on what that is?"

"No but I believe that they think you can fix my methods and rectify my insubordination over the regulations to achieve even better results."

"I believe so too. You had done a remarkable job in your last case. I was sent the reports. The outcome was as desirable as it could have been in that situation but the pathway to reach it... well if you had done it here, I wouldn't have let you off the hook without suspension."

Peter squirmed in his seat. "I am not allowed to discuss the details, sir" he gritted out.

"I understand" was the reply he got "I won't pester you about it but I will be keeping a close eye on you."

"Please do, sir" At the suggestive tone Sam's eyebrows rose a bit but he maintained his composure. "Where would be my desk, then?"

"Boss!" A young Paki woman shouted out to Sam as she ran towards them "We have got a tip on the whereabouts of our suspect. Shall we move in?" He had already jumped out of his seat and was putting on his jacket. Peter followed his lead.

"Yes, good work Maya. Get the armed response ready. DI Carlisle will ride with me. Let's go."

The car ride had been a mess of loud radio transmittance between Sam, Maya and another man Peter had suspected to be the head of the said response team. By some sick luck the address they had been given was closer to them than to the response unit and they had ended up in the location, the threshold of a warehouse, earlier than the rest. Maya and a few other officers were hot on their heels. He wasn't certain what had happened next but there were some shots fired from the building and someone was screaming to others to take cover and Peter was side by side with Sam leaning against a green wall. Then a woman's voice, possibly Maya, was informing them about hostages and how they were running out of time to help them.

Acting purely on instinct, Peter found himself crawling behind the building by the wall. Perhaps because he was still new and his non-existence in the team was not noticed or that everyone was busy to avoid getting shot, he had managed to slip away without a soul seeing him. He didn't even have a gun or anything remotely useful with him but a warning had been issued by the hostiles and screams had been heard from the warehouse which had been enough to get Peter to work. He wasn't known for his athletic body but at least he wasn't cowering behind a wall like the rest. He didn't expect them to jump into action but Peter wasn't going to wait around for DCI tight-pants to hold him back. If he could just get in and talk to the man in charge he knew he could make him come around without the armed response to turn the scene into bloodshed. He never liked guns.

He should have known better. Reaching the backdoor and freeing the two tied up and gagged people in the back room had been simple enough but upon discovering the source of the screams and cries, his blood had run cold. A lad of four or five years old was being held by their suspect; The boy's mother lying still with blood oozing from her body, twitching occasionally. Time was running short.

Another surge of events had followed as Peter emerged from the room and gently tried to get the man to surrender himself. Panicked after his mistakes, the man had fired a shot just behind Peter and despite his reassurances, he had opted to run away with the lad, his own son still cradled in his arms. Unable to appeal to the man's fatherhood, Peter reached for his phone letting the central to know the reason of the sudden silence and his course of action.

As he had ran out of the building right behind the suspect, he hadn't expected to be hit with the butt of the gun as he cornered the street and reached the roadside. With a loud snap, his world lost its senses and another crack had echoed as his head had hit the side of the pavement rendering him paralysed. He was still conscious which was a relief but he could feel the ever expanding pain on his temple and the coolness of the blood pooling beneath his skull. He was rather close to panicking.

The suspect had lowered the sobbing boy and was busy looking at his hands as if they were no longer his. Peter wanted to yell at him that yes, you bloody idiot you did this. It was at that moment that Sam had reached him from behind at before he could point his gun, his DCI had already moved between the man and his son, knocking him out cold with a swift hit using his police issued stick. Alone and oh so greater than life itself, Sam had come for him after all and without a protective vest, much before the response unit ever could. It was only minutes later, or Peter had felt it as such that a couple of armed and guarded police officers arrested the man and took the lad away from them as Sam kneeled beside his wounded DI. "That was the most stupid thing I've ever seen a fully trained copper to do. A DI even. You... Where is the medic?"

Peter smiled despite his throbbing head and when Sam noticed it he simply shook his head in resignation, reaching to hold his arm, providing a silent but certain connection to the land of the living. His eyes were gentle and full of guilt with a tinge of pride; at least Peter wanted to believe it to be so. "Hang on"

"For you," had mouthed Peter unable to voice them "of course"

In the hospital, he had woken up because of the nurses and their endless gossip by his bed. His head was bandaged and one eye was shut closed, also kept under the sterile bandages. He checked his hair which to his relief was still full and soft as ever. He knew he wasn't in any immediate danger since there wasn't that many cables attached to him and he was breathing on his own. A concussion then, along with an unstoppable headache. That had been close though. If the idiot had chosen to fire his gun instead of hitting him with it, Peter feared he may not have been so lucky.

He wiggled uncomfortably, his muscles protesting with an agonizing pain. He must have hit the ground harder than he had initially assumed. Unable to stretch out due to the IV needle in his arm he opted to examine his empty room. Well, almost empty with a few flower bundles and a single paper wrap sitting on his bedside table. Gingerly he reached out to grasp the gift only to discover it containing a cranberry muffin. Peter squeaked delightfully as he devoured it before any nurse could confiscate his well taught and well timed gift.

His first visitor was Maya. She had walked in on him with muffin crumbles still all over his mouth and had ended up laughing as he tried his best to act innocent. With full of smiles and kindness, Maya was a dear. Peter was certain he wasn't being biased because of a second treat she had pulled out of her bag. Almost.

"Sam was around earlier" she had said without being asked "Had to leave to finish up on the reports. Superintended is really puzzled as to what had occurred."

"Yeah, they would be. I got Sam's little present. I figure it's his way of forgiving me for pinching his muffin this morning."

"Probably. Or guilt, not that he would ever admit it or being impressed by your... initiative."

"Stupidity, you mean. Feel free to say so. Sam already did. Even as I was lying down on the cold hard cement, he was rather adamant about it."

Maya smiled "Sorry but we all thought you were a goner before you even properly joined us" she continued light heartedly "I am glad you made it through but we are a team now so next time, wait for us or I'll be personally knocking you into unconsciousness."

"Yes, ma'am" They spent the rest of her visit talking about what he had missed after being transferred to hospital. Peter was really close to admitting that he was rather glad that he had been hospitalized after hearing about the earful they got from the superintended and the relentless press pressure due to the involvement of a child and a reckless officer –namely himself.

Peter sank deeper into the tub. The water was already cooling down and the cranberry scent was dissipating. He drained the water a bit and reopened the tabs to let the hot water drown him. His hand grabbed a hold of the bathing bubble bottle and after careful consideration he emptied the remaining liquid into the tub. The smell became so overwhelming that Peter could feel the taste of that muffin in his mouth and the pleasure of the day in his soul. Minus getting a wound, of course but he had never been someone to dwell on the negative bits while there were happier aspects to focus on.

He had only interacted with Sam for a few hours and probably learned more about him than the rest of the force who has been working along side their DCI for years. He knew there was a big heart buried under the files and regulations as well as an unhealty obsession to the force and even a greater potential to discover if he were to let loose of the restrains. Peter had helped him to do just that in the upcoming weeks until... well.

Obviously not being visited by DCI Tyler during his time in the hospital for a day and a half, had been a negative side which he wished to forget especially since he had half blamed himself for putting the man in a pinch with his recklessness and the other half resting on Sam's wrongly placed guilt. As Peter was left in silence during the night in a moment of clarity, more like drugs wearing off, he decided to let go of the pang he felt in his heart. Sam was still his superior and had important office stuff to do. He could understand that. So he had done so. When he had returned to work, he had smiled and nodded kindly to all his new co-workers and he hadn't forgotten to leave a bag full of muffins on his DCI's table. Yes, it had been a delightful first week.

Back in the hospital with Mrs. Tyler having a well earned rest in her house, Peter was once again, like many times before, alone with Sam. As his free week came closer to its end, the anxiety continued eating him up. He wasn't going to wake up. Doctors were grim, nurses were avoidant and friends and colleges alike were hopeless. On the surface everyone was acting out as positive as they could but Peter could see their faith dissolving and lies bleeding out constantly. Even Mrs. Tyler was on shaky grounds as horrendous advices she received, telling her to let go kept increasing day by day. Sometimes Peter felt so alone, so trapped and desperate in that white room which was devoid of warmth that he forgot Sam was still there, that he was still breathing albeit hesitantly. Peter focused on that on those long hours. He reminded himself that Sam wasn't locked in a cold mortuary or six feet underground.

It was probably the scent of antiseptics and the taste of copper in the air that Peter was taken back to old times spent with deceased people trying to solve their murder cases and provide some sort of justice to those left behind. Who would avenge Sam Tyler then? If it had been a hit and run, Peter would not think twice before hunting down the bastard but the driver had been sensible, calling the police and acting all honest and worried and whiter than this bloody room. If Sam died, there would be no one to blame, no one to hunt down.

No, no. No! Peter stopped that thought process, Sam wasn't going to die. His pig-headed DCI would prove all those weak willed, so called friends wrong and return amongst them stronger than before. Yeah, that was more like it.

Peter sighed deeply. Just one more day and he would be forced to return to his unit. He contemplated staying longer but his new boss was adamant on getting him back to work and it was all the way down in Bristol, nevertheless. He sighed yet again. He had spent most of his time with Sam but he was aware that he was agitated, angry even. Close to lashing out at people, he managed to contain it but that wouldn't do. He had to work so he could remain sane, as sane as he could be.

Pushing his chair so that its side would lean on the bed, he interlaced his and Sam's fingers, lightly rubbing inside his palm. He picked up his book with his free hand and continued reading it out loud. Someone on the floor had mentioned something about the sensory system being active while the patient was in coma and could hear all those around him. Peter knew he at least had to try and communicate with Sam so when his words ran out, he picked an old book as replacement.

He was halfway through the story when Maya walked in. Ever the lady, she didn't comment on their hands but Peter did pull his apart reluctantly. As the girlfriend, his seat was her place in reality. Though she made no movement to claim it so far, her own heartbreak was evident enough to Peter. She knew about their past; Maybe Sam had told her or she had assumed it herself. The DI suspected the latter to be the case since Sam wasn't the type to cry over exes and she was a brilliant detective.

Maya sat down across from them, she bared no gifts and appeared to have just gotten out of work, hair messy and eyes tired. They conversed without talking, both up to date in both Sam's condition and the predicaments following the CID. It would have been chaos really, if Sam hadn't been so uptight about his reports and organization, his substitute would have been lost the day he stepped into his place. They had been dealing with multiple cases and all in vain as their last suspect had been realised. Peter would have offered to help but in all honesty he didn't care. Right, he did but not as much as he cared about Sam. The only think that got to him was that Maya wasn't acting like him. She wasn't crying or gluing herself to Sam's bedpost. He couldn't understand it at first but later it dawned on him that she was coping in her own terms and finishing up a case, Sam worked uncontrollably on was her way of showing her respects and willing him back.

He handed the book to her and left to grab some lunch.

A few more hours and Peter's cab would arrive to take him through the voyage of the damned and to the airport. He had returned back to talking about this and that. Books were lying by his side, empty candy wrappings adored the tableside, colouring the room, while he was hunched down on the bed, head resting on his arm. He spoke about the weather and the sports and ended up on their memories.

"Remember," he started "that lass from metropolitan? Of course you do. No one's ever gonna forget her. Oh it was such a weird case we had to work on. Glad we sorted it out safe and sound, eh?"

With the vague finger pointing and the dismissive hand waves, Peter had found his way to the photocopier eventually only to come face to face with the infamous backside. One that prominently belonging to his DCI. He took a few steps back and remained in the safer side of a booth wall decorated with green flowerless plants. Sitting on the empty table he grabbed the nearest file and kept a close eye on the man struggling beautifully behind the machine, bend over to reach whatever he was aiming for and trousers pressed tightly because of standing on his toes.

Peter would have let out a tactless giggle but in fear of being heard and lose this one chance he was given, he kept his silence and hid behind the file. All the while, Tyler was cursing lowly as his hands roamed on the photocopier trying to sort out the problem. His voice barely above a whisper as Peter assumed Sam would not dare get caught acting unprofessionally even towards a machine.

The young DI grabbed the nearest pencil and started chewing it as his DCI grew desperate. Tyler had checked the paper holder, the ink cartridges and probably had tried all of its available settings. Why hadn't he called for help, Peter thought and realized that this was something Sam Tyler had always done, not the kicking office machinery but sorting things out himself. Pride as the youngest promoted DCI or some sort of self-preservence through avoiding to show any weakness. Yet surely he must have understood that he couldn't handle everything alone, that he required help too from time to time. Surely not... or from the way he discarded his blazer and pushed up his sleeves, he honestly did hope to fix it all by himself.

Peter knew that one day that he was going to have to break the man's sheer stubbornness. If not for Tyler's benefit then just for the hell of it but today was not the day. Today he was going to sit back and enjoy his frustrated DCI's glorious backside. Which was what he had been doing until he felt a pull of the files and was nose to nose with a pair of fierce eyes. He blinked.

"Sorry but these belong to me" said the woman in a perfect London accent. Her dark hair was held together on a bun above her head with bits dangling from the sides as she loomed over him. "And just what on earth are you doing here?" Before Peter could answer her head followed the direction his body was pointing towards. As they reached their destination she squinted back at him with a promise of heavy judgement to come.

"None of your business, PC...?" he said with whatever dignity he could muster. He had still whispered. Perhaps she hadn't noticed.

"DS Alex Drake" she introduced herself emphasizing on her rank. "Here on the request of DCI Tyler to assist in his case."

"Let me guess, as a psychological analysis expert. Yes I have been told you were coming."

"I'd scarcely believe that. For someone whose sole purpose in the CID is to sit idly by and stare at someone's well... backside, I doubt you would have high enough clearance for the latest case we have, Mr...?" Oh she was looking to get burned, this one. He smirked.

"Carlisle. Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. Your superior and the one leading this so called highly important case." As to his expectations, Drake's slightly too large eyes opened wider but to her credit she didn't jump back as he had wished. Instead after a moment's inner argument she leaned forward to bite back at him. He was quicker.

"From the looks of it, your profiling skills are rather dull. Since you can't even pinpoint a superior officer in such a reserved division. Why had he even bothered calling one of you lot? I'd be more than sufficient."

"Yet you couldn't tell me apart from your own colleagues" she retorted back "How is this any better?"

"Because I don't need to. It's your job."

"I have heard about you, sir and let me tell you that it is rich coming from a constant trans-"

"What are you two arguing in there for?" raised the voice of one Sam Tyler. The said duo turned towards their DCI with equally baffled faces.

"Hello, I am DS Alex Drake. You asked for me from London." jumped in Drake as she extended her free hand for a shake. Peter narrowed his eyes as his DCI took the hand a little too enthusiastically. The man must be attracted to the cracked, holier-than-thou type. Then perhaps Peter had a chance.

As they immediately started discussing the case details, right there on the spot by the photocopier, Peter cleared his throat. "I thought this was a classified case. Isn't it a bit reckless to exchange details out in the open, boss?"

"Right. Of course. If you could follow me, DS Drake. We are also going to need to dig out the cold cases; Can you sort out the related archive files?"

"Sure thing" grunted Peter as Drake flashed a smirk behind his DCI. If the lady was going to be a major tart then Peter would have to take position for the battles to come. He took out a bunch of lollipops out of his inner pocket. Unwrapping the red one, he chucked it into his mouth angrily.

They should have been enemies really. The blood thirsty, stay away from my man or else, sort of sworn enemies. Alex Drake was certainly not an easy woman to get along with and Peter hated to admit it but she was rather eccentric. Positive eccentric too. Peter was similar. He took pride in how he operated; the way he could read people, analyse their personalities, manipulate them into talking and leave with the least damage done. The problem with how he operated was that his damage rate was considerably high, especially compared to this profiling lady. She followed a parallel method to his own minus the smoke and ashes that he usually left in his wake. Drake grabbed the data, became one with it and then juiced it out until nothing but the truth remained. She was refined and efficient and all too professional.

He was a bit jealous honestly. Drake and Tyler would have made one productive couple, well in every aspect but in the bedroom. Learning that Drake had a daughter with a proper life back in London and knowing that with her fastidiousness about the job, it made him happy to come to the conclusion that she wouldn't have time to flirt back, let alone engage in any sort of relationship with a Manchurian DCI who happened to be even busier and, Peter still dreaded to believe, more rigid about the job.

Yet somewhere along the line Peter grew to respect the woman, even like her a bit. Mentioning that to Tyler was probably a mistake as he had expectedly taken it the wrong way, as if he was gonna fall for Drake; they were simply too much alike, but the slight change in Sam's demeanour as he voiced the thought, that almost invisible tremor of his lovely, tiny hands proved all that Peter had been wanting to confirm. Sam Tyler was jealous of him too. That realization made him even happier.

Their case included old, supposedly closed but nevertheless sensitive cases, forcing them to tread carefully but quickly. Once they all agreed to get along and be professionals, latter one more so on Peter's side, they solved the case pretty fast. Tyler had been the conductor of this sophisticated orchestrate. Drake had been tasked as the second in command to sort out the obvious details where else Peter had been the little voice of reason with an adequate amount of persuasion who had been whispering in the ears of the judge, jury and witnesses. Now he was certain the higher ups were never going to let them come together in fear of their extreme efficiency. Who knew; maybe one day they would team up again to go after that corrupt lot too…

"You know" slurred Alex, to Peter after drinking enough alcohol she was now Alex. Just like he was Peter to a drunken Alex. "If you wanna get into his pants, you are gonna need to do a whole lot more than just ogling after his butt"

"I know" he shot back and sipped his sweet banana daiquiri "but it's a glorious butt, isn't it?"

"It is. It definitely is. He must be constantly working out. In the mornings, jogging in his tight sweat pants, shirt clinging over his chest, heart beating so fast, his skin all sweaty and oh, dears"

"Oh, indeed" his grip on the glass got tighter as he shifted on the bar stool awkwardly to put his legs on top of each other.

"I probably should return to London before, you know..."

"Yeah, probably."

"After this drink"

"Of course"

"What? You are looking at me like that, again" asked Sam as he approached their stools with a rare moment of joyfulness on his face "You two have that weird vibe back when you first met. I can tell. What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing" assured Alex as she stood up "We were just reminiscing about the good old days."

"Right" said Sam and turned to face his squirming DI. "Come on then, Carlisle. Others are waiting by the table."

"Give he and his daiquiri a minute, Sam" giggled Alex. Peter bit hard on the straw making Alex laugh out load.

"Just a sec! I'll be right there. You go ahead" Sam complied although suspiciously and let Alex dragged him away leaving Peter with an air of peace to breathe.

 *

Sam Tyler had always been aware of the power of the words since his childhood. Words were like gems, he had thought. The fewer they were, the more precious they became. Conversing with his dad, the memories of such rare moments were treasured, each sentence more important than the last. In the absence of his father, words became his shield for his mother against the cruelty of gossip; during his job as a DI, he had talked cornered robbers out of continuing their futile heist and made them see sense. Sometimes though the lack of or the excess of words got him into more trouble than they were worth. There was this one time, when he had been slapped by an ex when he had voiced his complaints over her paltering at work or that other time when he almost got a subordinate shot because of the panic washing over and words leaving him.

As a DCI he knew that, those words would be used against him from time to time. Reporters would jab him with cruel, unwavering statements, superiors would criticise his efficiency and colleagues would gossip about him. He was prepared for whatever they threw at his direction, yet he never guessed, hadn't even seen it coming from miles away. Worst part, as he kept on reminding himself was that it was his fault, that he deserved the consequences.

"Outrageous!" yelled the Superintended, his voice high and loud, echoing through the CID corridors "DCI Tyler, I've expected more from you. I've entrusted you this rank as a vigilant and capable police officer. Is this how you repay your government; By degrading your rank and our reputation?"

"Sir, I assure you what's written on that newspaper not true." Sam pleaded "It is nothing more than a desperate criminal trying to cover her tracts with petty lies and misdirect people from her crimes."

"Tell me, what is this then; how my DCI and an ex police officer got involved in a money laundering case? Manchester DCI accused of bribing a witness; shocking exclusive reveals the ugly truth behind the Morrison case!" his boss spitted out as he slammed the newspaper on his desk. Sam held back an exhausted sigh.

"Slandering, sir. They are trying to smear our name so that she can use people's sympathies on her own accord. Give me a few more days, sir and I will crack this case proving her quilt."

"Oh, will you now?" the larger man hissed "You certain it's not you taking revenge on her for leaving you two years ago as the  _kind_  reporter has stated here?"

"Sir! You should know better than to believe their words" Sam blurted as a sudden rage swept through him. After all of his years in CID, he was not going to tolerate being treated like a corrupted copper. "I have never done anything like this in my career and I have no intention to do so in the future."

"It is not I you should be convincing, Tyler. It's the public and your history with our prime witness turned suspect that's deciding your future without you. With your negligence in reporting this is what these vultures are interested in exploiting. What on earth were you thinking? It doesn't matter now, though. You are off the case."

"Sir!"

"Do not argue! Be grateful I am not sending you on a leave. Now go sort out your documents or whatever you do in your free time and remain in the building. Also, send in Carlisle; he will be taking over."

"Yes, sir" answered Sam. Discouraged, he made his way out into the corridor. One part of him accepted this to be the efficient way of dealing with the issue he could not have foreseen; a punishment for his failure as a police officer. On the other hand his other side was screaming at Sam to do something about it. Not just sit back and let others solve his problems but take action. Though he was certain that would piss off his boss even more and in case of another failure, his already deeply wounded career could reach its end in a heartbeat. He shivered with a combination of anger and fear. He needed something to calm his nerves. He needed tea.

Avoding the heated gazes of his team to the best of his abilities, he made his way to the kitchenette. With kettle switched on, with more water than actually required for his mug, Sam leaned on the counter. Fingers gripping the corners, he tried to relax. Just what the hell was going on? How the hell had he done such a reckless mistake? In whose name had he believed her story only to be made a scapegoat later on? He cursed himself inwardly and his inability to sort this out.

"Hey" The hesitant voice got him out of his self-anguishing reverie and a hand on his shoulder made him look up. His DI, Peter was observing with guarded, unreadable eyes. He knew what came next... "Blimey, are you boiling water for half a dozen people, or something? That's gonna take ages. Move aside."

Dumbstruck, Sam retreated away until his back hit the wall by the door. He silently watched as Peter poured the excess water from the kettle, grabbed two mugs and prepared their tea. It wasn't until the hot cup was placed between his hands, warming him inside out that he noticed a smile had been growing on his slumped down on a nearby chair after thanking Peter. The unusual stillness of his DI was most surprising but very much welcomed.

It was Sam at the end who decided to break the silence. Using his words to explain himself rather than letting the gossip to pollute Peter's thoughts, Sam wanted to be believed. More so by Peter than anyone else. So he started from the beginning.

/

He spoke of his first encounter with his ex, through a common colleague where they happened to be in the same birthday party, in one of those rare moments Sam had decided to take some time off. With a little bit of push from her side, they had started dating, soon to be followed by a vicious break up. She could never handle an honest criticism, Sam explained, and dating a superior officer had done nothing but fuel her cynical attitude. That coupled with working in a profession she hadn't chosen had led to their ending. Almost as if taking her anger out of Sam, she had left both him and her work over the night.

Then came the day, they met again. Sam pondered on how to put it in words without sounding like a pounce. After all she had come to him for help and he had insisted on following the procedure which would later lead to a serious series of events, concluding in him being accused of slandering. He should have known; he should have seen that she was a crooked copper who took bribes. But how could he; she had a perfectly clean resume and no suggestion to throw the mud on her. After confessing she had told him that she had made a mistake and was on the run from it all, having had enough, she had tried to disappear into the shadows. Sam believed her sincerity only to be fooled into a trap laid by her. Now he had no evidence but his word against an ex copper's.

Upon finishing his side of the story, Peter hummed in a nonchalant manner. Sam hadn't noticed the way his DI's hands squeezed around his own cup but it was inevitable to miss it when the same fingers gently caressed his neck, just below the end of the hairline; providing a short lived support. He leaned into the touch, absorbing the warmth emitted from it as best as he can. Sam wasn't completely oblivious to those around him. For a while now, he knew of Peter's tendency to look after him in more ways than being a copper required them to do so. He had never thought of himself that way but the more he received from Peter, the more he wanted; a dangerous direction to take especially considering the problem he got himself in. He knew better though. As hard as it was, Sam kept his yearning in check. Peter, not so much. They sort of met in the mid-way. But not now. Now Peter had taken an initiative, Sam himself was dearly afraid of. He was scared and grateful at the same time. He wondered what could possibly follow this.

"It's going to be alright" was the only verbal response Sam got from Peter as the DI drew himself away in a split second and got out of the kitchenette in the next one. The DCI was left with questions that he didn't even know existed and a cold tea to wash away his rising anxiety.

It turns out much later in the next day that the reason for Peter's dramatic exit was for Sam's sake. To his surprise, Sam was not surprised to learn this. The power of the words, he thought, few simple words Peter had used to calm him down and probably prove his innocence. Peter had managed to convince a witness to come forward. How, Sam had not yet dared to ask but the witness had given them that missing proof linking the lying wench to the actual crime. She would be serving time both because of bribes she accepted back when she was an officer and for the Morrison case as well as slandering a police officer. Sam tried not to smile too much.

"It seems I owe you one" Sam exclaimed as he leaned on the rails. They had gone up to the rooftop for fresh air together with Peter who was busy sucking on a blue lollipop. Sam wondered just what flavour it could have to have such a bright colour. Then again, Peter always seems to find the strangest sweets when he had a job well done; A means of celebration, perhaps.

"Oh, that so?" he answered cheekily "I was just doing my job really."

"Even so, you believe in me enough to continue working even when the others hadn't done so."

"Instinct; that and I knew you couldn't have done it. It's just not you."

"You are right, it's not me. It could never be me. To think, I could have lost my job and credibility in the eyes of everyone I ever cared for. All lost because I couldn't see her true face; To think that she had been lying through her teeth even back then. Some copper I am." Sam gritted out, his residual anger seeping out.

"Come now, we all have our bad days. You must have really loved her and blocked out any of her suspiciousness."

"I shouldn't have"

"It's not a matter of should or could." Peter tried to explain "You trusted her in all your honesty and she chose to betray you and to the force. Don't blame yourself for this, not when she is the guilty one. It may not seem like it but don't lose your hope for love either. There are people who believe in love as well as in you."

"I know" Sam dropped his chin on to his arms over the railing, gazing at the concrete all the way down. Sam wanted to fly at that moment, jump over the metal bars holding him, into the darkness of the night. Even if he had wings, he could never flap them, the fear of falling too great but he was also certain that Peter would be there to grab him as the one who stood strong by his side, an unmoveable object grounding him to reality. Even if he couldn't fly, Sam knew at least he wouldn't fall either.

"It means a lot to me, you know; to know that I have someone I can trust. Thank you." He whispered, somehow hoping for him to be one of those believers he had mentioned. Nah, he really hadn't lost hope.

"Well, if you really insist then I am inclined to accept your offer. Dinner?" The fire in the pit of his stomach changed its nature to a more fluttering feeling, kindling a new, stronger and gentler flame. There it was, the cause of that fire; the comforting aura radiating from the slim body, accompanied with a sly smile. Above the dim city lights and under the bright stars, it was the most captivating sight.

Sam let out a tired breath, stubbornly resisting the pull of that sight but smiling nevertheless "I don't remember offering but... yes, if you'd like." He was amazed to see the grin on Peter's face to grow even wider as his hand, on its own accord, reached out to straighten the soft brown locks which had been dangling about with the soft breeze. Sam couldn't recall what it was that he was afraid of anymore.

"Yeah, I would like that" Peter whispered, moving forward ever so slowly.  _Giving me a chance to slip away, are you?_  realized Sam but didn't took it. More so he pushed himself up the railings and towards the origin of the kindling. His one hand was left on the metal bar soon to be intertwined with Peter's and he placed the other one on Peter's cheek pulling down. They met in the mid way. Peter's soft lips upon his, tasting of the blue candy.

A rare, celebratory taste indeed.

It wasn't too late. It was never too late. Not now, not ever.


	2. The yellow corridor

Time always had a habit of passing Peter by. When he was in the middle of a case, time slowed down. He had enough hours in a day to examine the crime scene, gather the reports, interview the witness and sometimes make an arrest, if they were lucky enough. It didn't happen often but he found those rare days to be blessed where all went according to plan.

Then there were hours which flew by so fast that he couldn't catch them no matter what. It was mostly those times that he wished to remember, to hold close by his heart but as it was, those memories were always the blurry ones. The week he spent by Sam's side was one example. He recalled every story he told Sam, every one sided conversation and every sweet he ate but he couldn't remember Sam's voice, or his warmth, or his smile. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he couldn't because it hurt too much. Because he could never hear it, feel it, see it again. Because they are going to unplug his life support any minute now.

Desperation; there wasn't any other time he felt such much desperation before. Not like this, a blazing dagger plunged through his heart and behind his back. He swallowed even though his throat had gone dry because of running. He pushed his limits though. He had to become an unstoppable force once again and make Sam's heart beat again. If no one else could then he would.

Seventeen past two, the digital watch showed and Peter cursed louder than he thought possible inside the hospital. Legs over working he rushed down the hall called Hyde and found his room with the ease of having walked it many times in the last year. He skitted to a halt across the doors and swung them open, objections ready on his mouth. Yet there was no one to hear him out. The cruel white was as hopeless as ever, alone and devoid of life in every sense of the word.

Time was his enemy now, Peter was certain as he fall down on to his knees with half of a sob on his lips. He had been tricked and he had lost against the time. They had already done it. Seventeen minutes ago right in this room, they had unplugged Sam's life support and now he was left alone with a ticking white clock on the wall counting away his lost seconds.

A nurse found him in the same state and to his surprise she was more shocked to come across someone in the room. As she was startled with his wreck of a presence on the floor, she let out a short scream. Peter didn't face her. Afraid of finally having a confirmation of the final curtain in Sam's life, he opted to gather what remained of his dignity and pushed himself up. His legs protested but his focus was solely on avoiding the woman in front of him. Before he managed to escape, she stopped him with that creepy gentleness most nurses seem to possess.

"Whatever are you looking for here, love?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter" was the curt answer she received.

"Sam Tyler, perhaps?" Wasn't she a persistent one? Peter thought bitterly. He gave a small nod.

"He isn't here anymore" she started.

"Yes, I've noticed" he butted in impatiently.

"Don't be rude. You coppers are all the same, I swear. Is any of you capable of uttering one nice word, I wonder?"

"Oh, shut it, will you?"

"I remember you" she continued despite his attempts to retreat back and out of the room. "You stayed with him for a good while, hadn't you? I figured you must be a good lad, sticking by his side but guess that was just temporary, eh?"

"For heavens sake, woman! Read the situation, do I look like I can handle small chatter, when he is... he is gone" The knot returned to its place on his throat rendering him speechless as the gravity of his statement settled in. His eyes scanned the bed and switched off apparatus on the sides and the empty chair.

"Gone?" repeated the nurse "Oh, oh! No, no! You see, his life support was due to be switched off today. The mother and the doctor's had agreed and all but the lady changed her mind at the last minute. It was all a bit dramatic really. She said she saw him smile or what not. She insisted we left it alone. So the good doctor did and had him transferred to the room 2612. Smaller, compared to this one but just as efficient I assure you."

"He is ok, then? Alive?"

"Yes, of course he is still in a coma but- oi, wait till people finish talking!" Peter had already begun running. Following the number plated by the wooden doors, he enthusiastically skipped across the corridors and finally found Sam in his newly appointed room.

Just like that first time he saw Sam beneath the sheets with Mrs. Tyler by his bedside, Peter felt a pang in his chest; not a happy or relived one but for the time being it's all going to be ok sort of a pang. He smiled at the old lady and dived in to give her a tight hug, mumbling thank you's. Even if felt her trembling he didn't mention it.

"Is this alright?" she asked after the dark had fallen "Shouldn't you be at work? Sam is ok and I promise I won't give up on him again but I am worried about you, Peter. Your boss was not happy the last time you came here on your own account."

"I am a full-fledged detective inspector, ma'am. I am entitled to stretch my working hours in special cases." It sounded fine, when he put it that way but in truth his stretch had already turned into a rubbery residue. His DCI would hang him by the balls this time, for certain.

"I am the mother of a full-fledged detective chief inspector, boy, I know a troubled brow when I see one. Return home and come back on your free time, otherwise you might just end up with one too many free days."

"As perceptive as the son, you would have made a fine detective yourself." The flattery didn't earn him extra points and soon he was on his way back to Bristol. The phone call he received from his superior hadn't helped as he kept on yelling at him over the phone with a promise of making him regret the day he had became a police officer. He knew well enough though that there wasn't a force strong enough to prevent Peter from eloping Bristol in such emergency. Everyone was aware of the chains he kept on breaking just for Sam's sake before and after the incident. No duty or promise was kept when Sam was on the line waiting for him, needing him. That day hadn't been so different but it would have consequences. Ones Peter was willing to take on. Especially after confirming that he would always find a way back to Sam's side and even if time were to act against him, love wouldn't, may it be his or a mother's love.

Sam was familiar with this scenery; the white walls and the hollow sound of the heart monitor's beeping. His body, his subconscious remembered every inch of this cursed room but his mind was still full of that unknown place they had left him in the emptiness was bigger in his heart though. His hands reached for his gun but grabbed thin air. His eyes searched for his teammates but found none. Turmoil stirred within his chest instead. The last fading image of Morgan, both in this and the other world dissipated the as darkness and numbness claimed him.

His mother was there when he first felt a tingling in his toes. She helped him up, walked him around and put him back to bed like a six year old that had broken his leg. He accepted her help without questioning it.

No words, no verbal exchange was needed, with Maya when she came to visit him at home, his mother's home actually since she had insisted him to stay with her, in their home for a few more days. Maya spoke little and Sam understood her as the files, reports and summaries of work were assembled on the coffee table in an orderly fashion alongside a tea gone cold and with unspoken feelings afloat in the air. She left but not without dropping her transfer papers atop of the document pile. Sam never read those. The pile was moved back and forth between the coffee table and the study desk a few times yet they remained untouched, ever still.

Traumatic stress in accordance with being cut off from the real world has caused his vivid dreams to take place, or so his psychiatrist had said. They were not real, she had insisted. The places he had been, the people he had met and the cases they had solved were nothing more than an elaborate imagination playing tricks on his concept of reality. Sam would have lined up a few good swear words he had come to learn from Gene but his self-restraint was securely in place. My chains are back, he figured,  _the chains I put on myself_. He had no choice though, did he? Four weeks, bloody four maiming weeks were spent with various forms of therapy. Therapy for his mind, his soul, his body, his family which he had to be the one to conduct and for his work efficiency so that they would make sure he had not gone bonkers or completely lost it what with the crazy talk of unreal people and time travel. Even if the words were not wasted on this subject he knew he was lost to them in this world.

In the upcoming days he would put his hands over his mouth to not retort back, over his eyes to avoid the pitying looks and over his ears to stop the never ending talk behind his back. Most of the time it didn't do any help, other than prove them right about his difficulties of coping up with his surroundings. Yes, he been out cold for a year, mind trapped in a fantasy world too grand for him to comprehend at the best of times; every moment of that year was spent searching for the sounds of the living and trying to break free. Yeah, do give him the benefit of doubt when he didn't believe you because, guess what! Sam preferred it if they, the ones in that unreal world had been real instead of them; A thought that just sometimes scared him and in other times soothed him.

The first and possibly only proper help was offered by none other than Alex Drake, now DI herself. Sam couldn't decide whether to smile and congratulate her on her promotion or hold and just cry on her shoulder. Over the phone her voice had sounded like an angel reaching out from heavens but Sam knew better that to trust those so called pure and just voices. Look what had happened with Morgan; his teammates were let to a trap of his own making, probably dead or dying. No, weren't they just a figment of his own subconscious? Hadn't Morgan done just what Sam had asked and bring him back home?

He was alive damn it! Alive and breathing and oh so broken inside. Not even broken, empty really. Nelson had said that Sam was only alive if he felt like it. So what was he then? Empty and sad with one foot already in grave, only a single thread left to bind him to this world.

They met up in a crowded cafe by the CID, he and Alex. Sam liked the people of his own century, he had missed them and their background noise along with clicking of phones, that bad pop music playing on the round and even the mindless chatter maybe not so different from the ones in 60's. They reminded him of the technology age he was meant to be living in.

"How are you holding up?" Alex asked though she could see clearly the answer that was 'not holding up at all'. Sam smiled as he had done so many times before and gave the same answer once again.

"I am alright. Everything is as it should be."

"Says the man, who can't keep his eyes off of his work place. The world, the CID you had mentioned on the phone, are you willing it back or something?"

"It's not working much, is it?" Sam clicked his tongue not expecting a respond and sipped his coffee. It tasted like mud, everything tasted like mud these days so he wasn't surprised anymore. He took a deep breath "How is he?"

Alex of course knew who was referring to but opted to play dumb "Who?"

"Pete" Sam said silently, name half muttered behind the mug.

"Last I heard he was on duty. Shipped off to some place, God knows where. If my friend in Bristol is to be trusted, he has been working deep undercover for a while now."

"He is hardly the subtle type. What were they thinking?"

"Well, his DCI must have been very keen to keep him away from you." Sam did a double take at that. He had not expected this to be a reason. Peter was known for his insubordination as much as his efficiency during a case. If he were sent undercover for a punishment it would be because of the troubles he caused on his own. "Oh, don't give me the puppy eyes. He told me about how you guys broke up, he ending up on the bitter end of the kingdom."

"My fault really and he chose to pay it so that I wouldn't have to waste my chance as a DCI." Sam admitted with a heavy heart.

"Funny, he had said almost the same thing, that he broke up with you keep your appearance and he was the one to blame to begin with. He never gave me any detail but I can tell that you two never saw eye to eye with the publicity of your relationship, did you?"

"A fine way to put it out. No, we really didn't. He wanted the world to know and envy us but I was adamant on keeping it between the two of us. How stupid of me, to believe what others think about us mattered. It doesn't. It never really did."

"You could always reach a compromise, you know; Somewhere between screaming it to the world and guarding it as a Vatican secret." Alex suggested.

"There is nothing left to share with the rest of the world, I am afraid." Alex joined in the sighing as Sam left a tired breath out.

"You two will have lots to discuss once he returns" she said as an afterthought and Sam responded with a half hearted 'hmm'. "I am confused over one thing though. It is obvious you still care about him. So why date Maya?"

"If you are implying that I hadn't been fair to her or something then yes, I have not been the best person lately."

"No, I didn't mean it that way. I am genuinely curious."

"After Peter's transfer Maya was all I have left in the CID. She helped me a great deal, getting back on my feet and actually keeping me there. I do love her you know. I did, at the very least in my own way. I can't blame her if it wasn't the love she had hoped for but it was all I could offer."

"I understand. She was an anchor to your sanity."

"Thanks for putting it so mildly." Sam pouted a bit but didn't have much time to answer the bombardment of questions Alex had issued for him. They were all about the world he had been in, another time yet same place. She was curious in his world, how it operated, who was in it and how he had felt about being there. She wanted to learn every detail and immerse herself in it all. She was also keen on keeping his thoughts away from Peter as the direction never took that turn towards him.

There wasn't enough time to explain everything though it had felt so good to converse about it. It had been uplifting as he poured out all that was left of that world within him. He noticed how much he missed it all.

As his phone ringed and Sam was called back he made a promise to Alex about recording the details of his prolonged stay in the 70's. It would be like confessing his sins to an unknown, invisible priest but however uncomfortable it made him, it would be a promise he would certainly to keep.

"Do you think," He started with a hesitant voice like that of a child's, before leaving "Pete would accept my apology and agree to a...?"

"To restart your relationship?" Alex completed his question for him "Sam, he loves you. The only reason he is not running towards your arms is because he doesn't know you are awake. Just ask your mother, she had been there every waking hour to witness him caring for you back in the hospital as long as he could. Trust me, he wouldn't just agree with you but he would be the one making the suggestion, no demanding you got back together."

"I was truly a fool to let him go, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you both were."

He believed her words. Sam had found that his weakened thread with Peter to grow stronger after his chat with Alex. Yet days and nights passed without a single word from him. Finally one day, after many attempts to learn anything about Pete and hitting yet another wall, he snapped. The phone call he made to Bristol had left the other DCI speechless enough to drop the phone but it was not effective enough to sniff any information out of him. As the weeks stretched into months, the numbness in his heart grew and before he had realized it Sam had given up, once again. This time it was going to be the last time he had ever done so.

The painless cut on his fingertip dripped down leaving a perfectly circular droplet on the rooftop. Sam held his gaze up at the cloudless sky and all that lied behind it. He re-imagined the same sky in that day he had left his teammate to their fate amongst the armed robbers. He imagined their bloodied bodies and broken bones lying on the ground, just between the railways, twitching as their last breath gave out.

His fingers scraped the cut, smearing the blood across his palm. Nelson, he thought,  _you are alive if you feel it_  were his words. He didn't feel it anymore so was he already dead? No, he wasn't. He was just not able to die yet, or live for that matter. It wasn't an issue for him honestly. Whichever was the real world and the other was the lie. It wasn't a matter of reality anymore but one of a choice. And his choice was clear now. It had always been perhaps but it was just about now that he gathered the strength to act on it.

He had waited, with all his heart he had waited for a sign for a shred of information about Peter. In the other world he had the beating heart monitors and the doctor's voices keeping him informed. The imprints of the other world seeping through would have made anyone lose their sanity but it had been the reverse for Sam, they were what had helped him keep his sanity back there. Peter's own voice had been reaching out to him, showering him with hope and a resolve to go back home. Even for a short amount of time his words had managed to guide him just as his mother's had. He missed hearing them and their comfort. Here there was nothing but the void of voices like the one growing in his chest. As the hole grew bigger and stronger, it engulfed his resolve to remain strong. After many attempts to keep it at bay, now he had attained the conclusion, the finality to take the last step in his choice.

An option involving feeling and hoping; living at its fullest with all the colours and none of the greyness.

A final decision of never ending running and running, without stopping, moving at full speed up towards the sky, beyond the concrete buildings and dullness; Jumping back into a world of his choice and his choice only, fulfilled and smiling all the way down the path until he reached it.

 

*

 

Two days later, a man sat on his knees, hands grasping the white sheets just above his head, eyes puffy with crying and throat dry because of holding back wailing. Peter leaned his flushed forehead on the cold metal of the table in the morgue. Beneath his fingers was the even colder body of Sam Tyler, former DCI, deceased. He opened his eyes a long time after collapsing before the broken body of his once partner. He dried the remaining tears with the back of his hand and rose up still holding the bed.

The sheet on top of Sam was pulled up all the way, hiding away the nasty results of a ten floor fall and impact, merciless and bloody. Only his hand, attached to the bruised arm was above the sheets; A hand Peter had been clutching. He sighed, unable to find the energy to lift the sheets beyond that. He didn't want to look at what Sam had become; he didn't want to confirm the end. Running away has been much easier when things didn't go his way but this time the path to escape was met with a solid wall, its sides bending and reshaping itself into a lightless cage. Essentially trapped, Peter lost his sight and his breathing slowed down.

Heart beats recovering, he managed to glimpse back at Ms. Tyler who had been averting her eyes. Poor woman, he thought, having to go through this all over again, this time with no chance of recovering from it. An ending she could never have foreseen and a cruel one at that. He caressed the cold hand and giving it a final squeeze he turned back, his eyes focused on the elderly woman.

He didn't understand, he always considered himself a witty detective with distinguished profiling abilities yet here he was, beside the body of one person he desired to understand the most but could never figure out. And now, he never would. His chest clenched, hands sweaty he couldn't help but look back at Sam, silent and cold as the death itself.

His brain let him down as he struggled and failed to come up with a single explanation. It was a truth in the form of a letdown which destroyed his logic and got his mind confused, his heart broken.

A shattered breath later, Peter recomposed his stance and tore his eyes away from the body. To him it felt like after a year of trying Sam had finally lost his battle, that his heart gave out or an equally depressive medical illness had claimed him. If Peter accepted the truth as such then the pain eased a bit since he could blame the God for this ill-fated accident but otherwise he was left with questions and heartaches he could not justify. He had no one else but Sam to blame for his death. Peter hated himself for it. He knew he could never blame the deceased for the crime, he had never done so before and he had no intention of doing so now. Not with Sam.

Later on Mrs. Tyler was nowhere to be seen so Peter nodded at the coroner who had been standing just outside the glass, kindly staring at some random papers away from the scene. The old man nodded back at him, slowly coming towards them. Peter didn't stop again and made his way out of the morgue.

"Stop it. You are tearing down yourself and everything you have worked for" argued Alex as she emerged from behind him, in the park. It had been a couple of days since his arrival but the days were not getting brighter any faster than the speed of his nights darkening.

"How did you-" Peter started to complain but was cut short.

"I know you have given your resignation to the CID and sold your apartment in Bristol. You have been cutting everyone off. It's not like you"

"Excuse me while I gloom. Don't I even get to do that?" It had been easy really; picking up the phone, yelling and cursing at the man on the other side and slamming the phone down once he was done without leaving a room for argument. It was unclear whether he had gotten around resigning before he was kicked out of the force by his DCI but he was beyond caring. He had been like that for a while and being sent off had not helped fix his and his DCI's relation. It really didn't matter to him. Not anymore.

"I have ears and a common sense. Peter you are on a singular path to self destruction. You have to let someone help you. Please-"

"Alex," Peter cut her mid sentence "Enough. It is my life not yours and I am not gonna let myself spent another pointless minute by that bastard's side. It was his fault that I never got to see Sam, that I couldn't save him. If I had known, if I had returned on time then he wouldn't end up..."

"It wasn't your fault" It was no one's fault, not even Sam's." Peter made a face and ignored the woman as best as he could while observing the darkening sky until she produced a recorder out of her bag. "Listen, this is what he left behind, before he... you know. I think it has all the answers you are seeking. I can tell because I was looking for them too. I have to return to the capital soon but I made you a copy. Please, listen to this and judge for yourself but I am fairly certain that you will reach the same conclusion I had."

"What's in it?" Peter asked curious.

"Events from the last year of Sam's life and what went down according to his mind."

"What?" the young man had to ask as he inspected the recorder closely, as if it was hard to believe such a small thing could hold all of the answers.

"Just listen" Alex urged him "you will see that it wasn't anyone's fault, let alone yours"

A complete, finely detailed world was laid down before him with every word spilled from Sam's mouth through the recorder. Once Peter subsided his tears upon hearing Sam's voice when he pressed the play button and recovered from the initial shock, Peter was left baffled to listen to such a fine story. It was a story to him perhaps but from the convinced tone, it was none other than the truth for Sam. A truth Peter found hard to believe at first. Then he replayed the whole thing, listening again, paying closer attention to details, gluing his ears to the speakers and repeating the action until he was convinced that the story was as real as Sam's memories of it had been.

Peter swallowed and his dry throat protested. Who the hell was Gene Hunt, or this Raymond character? Annie and Chris and Phyllis and Nelson? Who in earth's name were these personalities created by his mind? Was it the tumour which caused these people to show up in his dreams, to stop him from distinguishing between reality and hallucinations even after waking up? And that seventies set up... perhaps it was all triggered by his father's untimely disappearance and Sam's own conscious trying to bring the truth to light, to reach enlightenment before the final judgement, before Sam had taken his last breath.

Confused and angry, he was even more stupefied than he had first heard of his death. What was Alex's point exactly; that Sam had lost his mind and no one could help him? Or perhaps she taught once Peter heard such a thing from Sam's own voice, he would stop blaming himself over a death he never had a chance of stopping.

Peter got up and circled the room, his hands finding a golden pendant of St. Such and such in his pocket. A parting memoriam from Ms. Tyler, the pendant was the one Sam had been wearing for as long as he could remember. Peter knew of it, he was familiar with its cold texture from when he had traced it while the pendant was still hanging from its owner's neck. He had been planning to ask her about it but as always she had been faster and handed him the pendant before he could even raise the question. His fingers ran smoothly across the back of the pendant and Peter relaxed his shoulders. It wasn't enough to take away the tension though. He believed it would never be enough ever again yet he still put it to lips almost feeling Sam's skin beneath them. Almost.

A sob escaped his mouth and in a manner of seconds he was reduced to a blabbering mess. He didn't have the strength to keep this up, to accept Sam's final decision. He had been working hard and long to return back for the last half year, this should not have been what greeted him. He would not accept anything but the smiling face of DCI Sam Tyler.

This was not going to be their end.

A life beyond grave, if that's what Sam had chosen than who he was to argue. What other option was left to consider?  _None_ , in Peter's opinion so he would have to act accordingly.

His fingers squeezed the cold pendant now hanging around his neck. Peter breathed in the cold and harsh wind blowing mercilessly towards his face but paid no mind to it. His cheeks had already gone numb with it and his heart was nowhere near beating as fast as when he first climbed up to the roof. He had returned to the place it had all began. Not their first meeting place, which would have been the bathrooms, he laughed bitterly, but the rooftop where their true relationship had begun and came to an abrupt end; A very specific and iconic location for them, with the wind ever present to describe their past in hushed, broken tones. He cherished the former memories of joy and unity where he had burned all of the ones belonging to the latter one with the desperation and the stupidity. He picked and chose which ones to remember and which ones to forget.

He used to believe that if a person screamed loud or repeatedly enough, they would be heard by someone, anyone but looking down at the sleeping city, the darkness lying beneath the street lights, heads turned away and ears plugged, his beliefs perished just as Sam had on the very same spot he currently occupied. There was no one here to hear him. Not one person within this crowd of many. It didn't matter whether you yelled your lungs out, because there wasn't going be any reply back, not anymore. Not ever. Not for him. His voice was already lost and his heart had weakened. The strength he reserved for love and duty was drained only to appear with a new shape. A new, singular resolve solely focusing on reaching Sam.

It wasn't important if there were people that could hear or see him because Sam wouldn't be amongst them. He was long since gone back to that world and Peter didn't have any intention of leaving him there alone again.

The metal bars under his fingers got colder by the second despite his harsh grip. His eyes watered and lips charred. A tremor passed through his spine and his knees buckled. It was not the time to lose heart, he knew that but his body betrayed him. He grabbed hold of the pendant again, seeking strength. All he got was a stronger urge to drop back down on to the rooftop a secure distance away from the edge. Was it Sam's remaining wish engraved on the pendant to keep Peter safe? Even after selfishly leaving Peter behind, letting him go a second time, did he had no mercy for the ones left behind? Peter had to question, whether it was Sam or his own instinct keeping him from following down Sam's path. He screamed; an ear splitting growl, more desperate and cruel than death itself. Leaning his head on the railings, he let out a second scream quieter but more shattered and pulled himself over the bars, back onto the roof.

"You, bastard! One time you decided to listen to your heart, one time you had the bloody courage to take a step towards a dream you yearned for and you had wouldn't even let me join you. Unfair, Sam. You are so unfair. What must I do to get you back? Tell me something! Send me a bloody sign, please"

His fists connected with the hard floor with each word eventually halting with exhaustion "Bastard" he called him finally while his index finger traced the dark grey floor he had been hitting a second ago. "What do you want me to do?" He continued to aimlessly sit on the floor until his nail scraped a dried stain. He withdrew his hand hurriedly only to discover that stain to be of a blood droplet. A sick realization struck him. He didn't have the time to wonder, he didn't give himself any time to do so. Someone had to make a decision for them both and burden the consequences. Unlike Sam he was going to stand by his choice of action instead of constantly running away.

Peter got up, holding his hand up and rubbed his fingers as the clotted blood was smeared across them. He chuckled as he jumped over the railing once again and stood on top of the world, the dormant city clueless of what truly lied beyond. He turned his back to the scenery, looking only towards the point where Sam had stood, rest of the world be damned. With his arms stretched as far as they could, finally he tore his gaze off of the remnants of a shadow haunting him and stared at the sky as long as he could before the dizziness took his tool on him and gravity put down a final dot on his story.

*

The corridor was yellow; a slimy, dirty yellow with a considerable amount of green thrown within it. They spoke of hardship and negligence but beamed with energy which in return made the person walking through them move faster, perhaps to get away. Not in the least bit stimulating but somehow familiar.

The haziness that had been clouding his perception disappeared when a cold glass of water hit him on the face. He tried defending himself but to no veil as the metal handcuffs around his wrists cut into the flesh.

"What?" he mumbled.

"Wake up, darling. We are gonna need a whole lot of details as to how the hell you broke into the CID and fall asleep, you dumb son of bitch."

"Who are you calling that and who the hell are you?"

"Oh, we got ourselves a Scotsman, this is gonna be fun, eh, Chris?"

"Yes, Ray" replied a shorter dark haired man to his left. "Shall I go, get guv?"

"Nah, we'll bring this one to him, dragging him all the way through the hall unless we have a name"

"A charmer" he bit out "Ray, is it? Where are we?"

"In the police station where sods like you belong and that's DS Raymond to you" Ray answered with a degrading amusement, overly enjoying the moment.

"Well, great! As if I hadn't had this conversation before" he sighed "I am Peter Carli-"

"Don't care" Ray cut him off and let Chris drag him to his feet "Move, you are the guv's early Christmas present. He will enjoy wrapping you up and kicking your arse back up to north."

"Oi, keep your hands to yourself! I am a police officer and your superior" The two men chuckled, one chewing his gum even louder in the process.

"Yeah, right and I am the Queen of England"

"Oh, dear God. What have I done?" Peter allowed himself a moment of regret as they escorted him down the corridor and stopped by the big wooden doors. As if the world has finally decided to cut him some slack, the seconds dragged on to minutes giving him time to adjust to the place he had just thrown himself in. A smile spread on his lips as he heard that calming voice chirping from behind the wings arguing about something with all his might and energy.

Raymond nudged his shoulder to push the doors but instead it was Chris, the considerate one who swung them open. As a silence fell over the old fashioned CID, all eyes turned towards them, while they mostly curious, one in particular was fearsome and another one was playing between shock and fear. Peter's smile grew bigger.

"What's this?" the giant in the yellow coat asked with a strong scowl.

"An intruder, guv; A Scotsman on top of it. Caught him lingering around the supplies office, cuffed and dragged him in here."

"Well done Ray" he said sarcastically "Leave him by the others and we'll return them in the morning with the rest of the cargo. Now get yours into gear we've got a dead bird lying on the streets and a murdered to catch."

"Yes, guv" As Ray pulled on his arms Peter hold his ground just as the man staring at him.

"Back to earth, Dorothy. We are moving out, now! Someone find Cartwright. Oi, you listening?"

"Peter" he replied clearly ignoring the man beside him.

"Hello, Sam"

"Somebody you know?" The guv asked the stunned man who had been sitting in his desk without a single motion. "Bloody hell, Tyler. You are just not gonna make my miserable life any easy. Who is this then, eh? Long lost brother?"

"I am Peter. DI Peter Carlisle. I am guessing I was sent here to assist you"

"You guess? Oh, brilliant! Another bird brain. Unfortunately I don't have any of your bloody papers so you are just gonna have to sit yer ass down until we do. Look after him, Chris. The rest of you, move it now or I swear..."

"I'll do it" Sam jumped of his seat, slightly trembling "I'll look after him, guv."

"No" the yellow coat answered with a finality that spoke volumes of history between the duo. Peter could not help but squint his eyes at them.

"If you could just take my papers out of my inner pocket," he added "sir. The files you need would be all there."

"It's DCI Gene Hunt. Keep your fancy  _sir_  to yourself. Chris check his pockets" As Peter had bluffed about the said papers in accordance with what he heard from Sam's recorder, he realized himself to be lucky as Chris managed to find them in the said place.

"Stop your fidgeting, Tyler. Fine you are legit. Uncuff him, Ray but I have my eyes on you."

"Yes, absolutely." Peter released a deep breath as he turned and approached to a water eyed Sam.

"Move it then" yelled the guv but Peter had interrupted him once more.

"Just one more thing" Peter said as he took two more long steps, stretched and swung a strong right hood towards Sam's jaw. For the first few seconds, everyone watched Sam's struggled to keep balance and if Peter saw the guv's lips twitch upwards ever slightly, he didn't let it show.

"Boss, boss!" called out the officer called Chris and hold Sam's shoulder to steady him.

"What the?" came from Sam but as he fixed his jacket and straightened up, he was more relieved than angry "It's ok, Chris. I deserved that one."

"No one's arguing with that" said Raymond amused.

"True enough. You got it out of your system then, Carlisle?" came from Gene Hunt with a knowing smirk.

"Yes, guv" Peter replied smugly.

"Good, welcome to the team"

"Wait? That's it?" asked Sam though he seemed happy by his standards.

"I have been wanting to do that for ages, you dim wit. Good to see someone got the balls to pull it off. Though it's a onetime thing Carlisle, you hear? Next time you touch any of mine, I'll rip that self-nurturing hair off."

"Understood, guv. One punch was all I needed"

"Right"

Once everyone was out in the corridor and most out towards the cars, Peter was pulled into what appeared to be the lost and found office. Arms stretched on both sides of his shoulder trapping him between the rack and the shorter man whose face was hiding beneath Peter's chin. His own hands came to a halt on Sam's back, equally caging him and he couldn't help but sniff the short distraught hair, kissing it gently.

"Hello Sam"

"Peter" was the muffled answer. He suspected that Sam was barely holding back his trears anymore "Pete. Why"

"Because, if one runs then the other must follow; If one acts stupid then the other must act smarter; if one falls the other must fall as well."

"Oh, God. You jumped too"

"Did I now? I'm not entirely certain on that you see. I remember a dark night and a load of stars to illuminate my path. I remember you voice and your scent. I remember desperation but not pain, and certainly not falling."

"What do you mean? How else could you be here?"

"With my sheer stubbornness which I learned from you?"

"Pete" His head fall onto Peter's neck forehead touching the golden chain. "Is this the same one as mine?"

"It's the one" Peter answered "Yours and now mine. It was a very generous gift and a memory to remember you by which I ignored; why satisfy with a memory when you can have the real deal?"

"To live on?"

"Don't want to hear that from you, Sam. As it was your choice to come back here. It was mine to follow you. I am angry. I am so angry but we'll have time to argue over that and much more. I am not letting you go this time. Not ever. I made you a promise." Sam wrapped his arms around him pulling Peter even closer.

"I know I heard you"

"So did I"

"The recorder..." Sam concluded.

"What else?"

"I am sorry."

"Good. You better be. I expect you to make up to me. I came all this way for you. Wait does this make me a stalker?" Peter slightly pushed Sam back searching the latter's eyes for any sign of uncomfortable twitching. There was none.

"Essentially" said Sam smiling "but I am willing to let this one go. We will have a talk on self sacrificing stunts you pull; add that to the list."

"Yeah, might as well include the unresolved issued we had beforehand. I doubt seventies is any more accepting than our own."

"It will be fine" Sam said without batting an eyelid.

"Are you feeling alright?" Peter had to ask "You never sound or act certain over relationship related issues. What have they done to you?"

"Nothing I can't handle. Gene Hunt may be a grunt but he won't dig too much into this. He owns me one, well more than one and I know for a fact that he has a bigger heart on the inside than he lets out."

"So you got it all figured out. Right now?"

"I have been thinking about it since I first heard you on the radio, Pete. It never left my mind, not while I was trapped here, struggling to go back to you and not when I woke up into that grey world."

"Why are you here then? Why didn't you wait?"

"I don't know. You are the psychologist, you tell me" Peter didn't need to ponder on that much. He grabbed Sam's face and kissed his lips slowly.

"You were afraid; Afraid of being alone again, afraid of losing people important to you and afraid of letting go. You care about this lot here very dearly, don't you? Not knowing if I were to ever come back alive, or even back to you after a year, you grew weary and hesitant. You did the only thing you could to keep your sanity. You hold on to those who could hold you back. Something I, we both had failed before. You simply didn't want to grab a broken branch again. I understand. It hurts and I hate it but I get it. You asked why I chose to follow you? I didn't follow you I chose to be with you wherever you might be because I let you down once and I don't intend to make the same mistake again. Because I love you, always had and always will."

"You damned man,"

"Oi, oi, is this the response you give to me now? They must have rubbed off on you."

"Yeah, they did" After a shake of head and fingers finding their way to Peter's cheek, Sam laughed "I love you too, Peter."

"That's better. Now can I have this moment?" As Peter kissed Sam once more and let his worries be lost as he felt the warmth of their bodies, he hold on to him even harder. Noses bumping, teeth clattering, Peter held on for dear life.

"Oh, you bloody hell! I knew you were a bloody fairy but shagging in my interrogation room, are you trying to give me a heart attack or have me gauge my eyes out, Dorothy?"

"Guv... I..." Sam stuttered. Gene crossed his arms across his chest and eyed them both like he was trying to figure out which chair to break on their heads. Sam shivered.

"Not so tough against the real deal, eh Sammy?" Peter teased.

"Sorry"

Gene's eyes darted between the two of them as he rocked back and forth, his inner monoloue, full of dilemma, obvious to Peter. "I don't care and I didn't see anything but if I ever do, ever again, I'll put you on survaillance for the rest of your miserable lives." His tone was strong as before but both DIs could tell that he felt like he was going to regret it later on.

"Yes, guv" answered Sam dutifully before Gene could change his mind.

"Well we needed to discuss a lot things tonight anyway. Before anything else" Peter warned, his smirk returning.

"And tomorrow and the night after that" Sam concluded his hand slipping behind Peter back.

"Well I do hope so"

"Oh, bloody Mary. I am gonna scratch me ears off. Shut up and move, you bunch of fairies"

"Yes, guv."

 

 


End file.
